Where Are We Going From Here?
by Moon Fox
Summary: 10 years after Merlin sent Arthur's body to Avalon comes the day that was promised by the prophets and the rise of the Once and Future King. Canon/historical pairings and influence. No slash (Completely ignoring the final scene of Merlin, spoilers for 5.13)


10 years after Merlin sent Arthur's body to Avalon comes the day that was promised by the prophets and the rise of the Once and Future King.

Gwaine didn't die. Mordred has returned from the grave.

Cannon/historical pairings and influence. No slash

Completely ignoring the final scene of Merlin, spoilers for 5.13)

Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot and the writing style are mine.

Currently this is a one-shot with the potential for growth in the future once my other fic is done.

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_Lines on my face, lines on my hands_

_Lead to a future, I don't understand_

_Some things don't go as they're planned_

_Where are we going from here?_

_~Blackmore's Night _

It was peaceful, as it was almost every day on the lakeside. The sunlight sparkled off the water as it lapped lightly against the shoreline. A warm breeze carried with it the scent of pine and moss, mixing with the algae and slight fishy smell of the lake. A dark haired man with piercing blue eyes and a slightly graying beard sat on a boulder a long stick in his hand. At the end of the stick was a string that arched from the pole out into the water. A piece of bark floated on the surface where the string met the lake, tied to it and bobbing up and down lazily as it rode the small waves created by the wind. Underneath the line continued down into the crystal water a hook and a worm at its end riding just above the floor of bed of milfoil. A swarm of minnows rushed around the worm, picking at it, but they were too small to take the bait and certainly would provide a poor supper for the man as he patiently waited for larger prey.

Nearing his fortieth year of life, the hermit knew how to be patient. He had been ignoring the plight of the kingdom less than two hours walk from the small hovel he built among the hawthorn grove at the edge of the lake. Their branches twisted and bent, a reflection of his soul he mused. He had forsaken everything when the one man he cared about over all else had fallen. He never set foot in the city that had been his home for ten years again. His friends would occasionally come to visit, so he knew how they fared. However as the years passed their visits became less and less frequent until only one roguish knight who now served as instructor for the younger generation, permanently scarred with a heavy limp from the torture he received in the days following Camlann, came from time to time. Nearly two years had passed since the last time he came, dragging with him a frightened boy of seven.

With him the old knight brought grave news. Mordred had returned and overrun the once peaceful city. No one knew how, but the man living by the lake had his suspicions. Years before, yet shortly after he had been informed of his mentors passing someone had broken into the late physician's chamber and ransacked it. The information tempted the man to return to the castle, but the deed was already done, and he doubted anything worthwhile remained, since he was informed that even the floor below his old bed had been torn open. It wasn't any great voice or strong sense of destiny that kept him away from his former home, the reality was much simpler than that. He didn't want to. There was nothing left in Camelot for Merlin.

Under its Queen Albion was being united, although it took the threat of a full scale war with the Gauls to bring it about.

Gwaine was fleeing on orders of Her Majesty, the son of the late king in tow. Guinevere was being forced into marriage by Mordred so he could claim the crown. Many of the knights he once knew had long since fallen in various battles, or the plague that ravaged through the kingdom for a time. Others were sent to the battle whose fighting took them all the way to the continent. He questioned the former knight as to why he did not go to the commanders across the straight and inform them himself. The roguish man replied that it was too dangerous; Mordred had men planted amongst the leaders of the army and even he didn't know who to trust. That was why he brought the boy to Merlin.

The hermit looked the child over and said nothing as he turned back to the lake. Gwaine yelled and threatened harm on the man that was once his only friend, but Merlin only sighed and told him there was nothing he could do. His only advice: The knight should find a good place to hide.

No one came after that.

Once a year he would make a pilgrimage towards the Valley of Fallen Kings and the cave of crystals hidden in its ravines. Part of him always hoped to see his father once again among the shimmering facets. He could recall the pain and overwhelming sensation the first time he walked among the glass like shards. Now it was a welcome friend as he relaxed in the warmth of the magic inside. He saw what was happening in Camelot, and the Queen – his first friend from the city - crying for the loss of her husband, her kingdom, and now her son. Even this wasn't enough to propel the hermit back into the world.

He sighed with realization that he would need to find something other than fish if he wanted to eat tonight. Pulling up the line, much to the disappointment of the minnows, he felt the breeze shift. The warmth it carried disappearing. He shivered against the sudden chill and resigned himself to a few days of living off his dried stores while he hunkered down against the sudden change of weather. Although uncommon, it was not unheard of for such a shift to occur. Sometimes he mused that it was the magic surrounding the lake that kept the storms at bay, every once in a while even the strongest force of the lake couldn't stop a squall from breaking through.

He looked around, evaluating the oncoming tempestuous weather. Raising his eyes as unnatural clouds rolled through the sky, pulsing in towards the island at the center of the lake. Winds began to tear through forest. The lake's surface was nearly white with the breaking of strong waves in the gale. He heard a large cracking sound and turned just in time to see one of the larger trees come crashing down in the center of the hawthorns and through the roof of his shack, all but destroying it. The wuthering was akin to a banshee's song that began assailing his ears, causing him to drop to his knees in pain.

Then it was over.

Leaves and debris floated down to the ground around him. The lake was once again calm. A shaft of light, brighter than anything he had ever seen broke through the clouds. His blue eyes followed it down from the sky to where it landed on the surface of the now still water. A boat, one he had not seen in ten years was gliding towards the shore. Inside, sitting regal and tall, a sword forged of dragon's breath across his lap was the only man who had a chance of pushing Merlin back into the world.

(*~*~*~*)

_This idea has been sitting in my files for a while. I've wanted to finish my other Merlin stories (especially Cauldron) before I really dove into this piece- which doesn't seem to be happening any time soon. I'm not sure if I will just leave it as is, or expand on it. Anyhoo- Please drop a review and let me know what you think, good or bad, constructive criticism is always appreciated. _


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